by Watson, Meg
Faltering a few times, I clawed tight to the cherry wood trim on the wall and eventually made it to the end of the darkened hallway. Not that I particularly had to go to the facilities—it was just guaranteed to be a more stable, quiet place than the shifting, pulsing world outside.
Happily, I was alone in the porcelain-tiled room. I gripped the sink, staring down my own reflection. I expected some horror movie version of myself: strung out and bug-eyed, hollow cheeked and scraggly. To my surprise, my hair was in slight disarray, but otherwise I was fine. I heaved a soft sigh of relief before letting my head drop a bit, trying to collect myself.
Beautiful, huh?
If I raised my chin just so… Under the soft chandelier light, I supposed I looked all right. Not terrible anyway. Blonde hair, grey eyes. I could have been Rachel’s little sister in another life.
The tap came on automatically when I waved my hand under it and I splashed water over the insides of my arms. I pushed my damp fingers through the back of my hair and luxuriated in the hazy surface buzz of that feeling, finally enjoying the effects of the drug in my skin and muscles.
In all probability, I might have played off half that conversation as a reasonable person. I had just psyched myself out. But look, I wasn’t a disaster. I gave myself a wink in the mirror. With my arms up and in my hair, I looked a bit sassy. Maybe confident.
Yes, that’s all right I guess. See? Disaster-free. He didn’t see the trainwreck that I feared. He didn’t even have a sober Jolie experience to compare it to.
Oh man. I can't believe I let him go.
I had talked to him for a grand total of ten minutes, but those ten minutes were the best of the night by far. Maybe for many nights before this too. That thrill every time he looked at me, the way my breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t felt anything like that in a long, long time. His smile, his deep laugh, those eyes. They pulled me in completely, and just as quickly, they were gone.
Nice move, Jolie. Can’t you ever just do what you’re told? Would it really have been so hard to listen to him?
With a resolute growl, I dropped my arms back to my sides and turned and made my way out of the bathroom.
The crowd had seemingly multiplied since I sat down with Rafe. I felt pressed in upon as I moved through them, trying desperately to make my way back to the table where Rachel was waiting for me. I was ready to be through with the night. The deal must have been made by then, and I wanted to go home.
Predictably, when I made it to the table, she was nowhere to be found. I clumsily climbed up onto the chair. Kneeling on it, I pointedly ignored a few surprised stares and looked out over the crowd. She should have been easily enough picked out by her swinging blonde hair and red dress, but there was no sign of her.
Nice. Thanks again, Rachel.
I felt a strong hand circle my arm and reflexively yanked back and away.
Bronson pulled me down from the barstool, his bleary eyes seeming to hardly focus on mine. He was out of his mind—drugs, alcohol, and who knows what else? Probably the same stuff I had but a lot more, by the look of him. He leaned in, the grip tightening by the moment as I squirmed and pulled back.
“Come on! I— hey, what do you want? Let me go!”
I gave a hard tug but got absolutely nowhere. I'm not sure if the alcohol had anything to do with it, but the grip he had on my arm was concrete. I was going to be bruised, and I knew it. He leaned in, reeking of smoke and whiskey and gave the most unsettling smile I've ever seen.
“Where’re you going, Rachel? I need to talk to you about a few things.”
He snorted out a strange sort of half-chuckle, tongue coming out to swipe his lips. Another man stepped up, placing a hand at Bronson's shoulder and asked him if there was some kind of problem. He released my arm just long enough to face the man, arms out and ready. I bolted. There was no way I was sticking around to find out how that was going to turn out.
Legs still rubbery and disobedient, I walked as quickly as I could back to the entrance and out into the night, gulping lungfuls of prickly, misty air. After a few deep breaths, my head seemed to settle into clarity. I could feel like myself again, mostly.
But standing on the sidewalk, I found myself completely at a loss. What was I going to do? I rode there with Rachel in a cab. She had all the money. Cab drivers don't accept gratitude as payment, generally. I paced back and forth, throwing nervous glances back toward the bar, sure Bronson was going to come storming out any minute and do something horrible.
The worry must have been plastered all over my face. I tried to control myself but could do little besides walk in a tight path and hug my arms to my body. One of the women at the front of the now-thinned line seemed to be considering checking on me, concern shading her eyes.
Don’t be that girl, Jolie. Don’t be the hysterical mess at the bar. Control yourself.
I gave her a confident but shrugging smile as if to say What a night, eh? She shot me an uncertain nod and stepped back to her friends, glancing back again once or twice.
Pacing more slowly, I studied the black iron railings of some high-rise’s manicured landscaping like I belonged there. The low rumble of an engine came from behind, and I turned to see a long black limo pulling up quickly. The window slid down.
“What are you doing out here?” Rafe’s voice emerged from the dark interior. He rested his arm on the frame and I squinted into the limo, trying to see his face.
“Nothing. Just waiting on Rachel. She's coming right back for me. She had to make a run to get something from the apartment.”
The lie must have been even more obvious than when I was totally stoned, because he leaned forward into the wedge of light from the streetlamp. His brow lowered in something bordering on anger and I saw the quick flare of his nostrils.
“No, she's not. Get in the car.” He gave a loud snap of his fingers, motioning to the seat beside him. “Now.”
I hesitated, then quickly shook my head.
“I told you, I'm waiting for my friend. I don't even know you.”
“Yes you do, and you'll not refuse my command. I said get in.”
Another shake of my head, but it was a lot less enthusiastic. I was beginning to think it might be best to obey him.
Rafe heaved a heavy sigh. The black door swung silently wide and he stepped out of the limo, walking quickly to me. I shrunk back reflexively, but he simply came to stand beside me.
“If you won't capitulate, I'll wait. Either your friend shows up in five minutes or you're coming with me. Simple as that, yes?”
I stared up at him. The streetlight bounced off the tiny water droplets in the air, haloing his jet-black hair. Before I knew it, I was nodding.
He stood entirely too close to me, and I felt totally dwarfed. Even though the real difference may have only been a matter of six inches, his presence made him seem like a giant. The fact that I was halfway hunched over and away like he was about to abduct me probably wasn't helping that impression.
The woman with concern in her eyes seemed entirely satisfied when I glanced over to her again. Apparently a limousine is enough to make people think that nothing strange is going on.
But maybe I was just being paranoid. There was nothing strange going on. Rafe was trying to look out for me, even being as bossy as he was. He was apparently pretty rich, and rich people usually get their way. Maybe he was just a gruff recluse. He did say he didn’t get out much.
I relaxed a bit and finally looked up to him properly. He was staring straight ahead, hands in his coat pockets, his lips twitching to the side now and then. I found my eyes glued to them again, especially now that he wasn't looking at me. He had such a gorgeous profile—strong nose and jaw, deep-set eyes, full lips. I began to wonder if he might have made his fortune as a model, and couldn't help the giggle that slipped from my lips.
He looked down to me with those deep coal eyes, brow furrowing a bit.
“Is something funny, Jolie?”
I immediately quieted
, shaking my head.
“No, nothing. Well… I was just wondering what it was you do, exactly.”
He squinted at me from under his perfectly shaped brows.
“What I do?”
“I’m sorry, is that too rude?” I babbled nervously. “I mean, you've obviously got some serious money, right? The limo, the suit, the whole... look, really. Must be some kind of rich. So, I just kind of thought... you know, maybe you might be a model or something. You kind of have that look.”
He was silent for a long moment, then gave a rumbling affirmative hum.
“That is a new one,” he said with a confused, almost bashful smirk. My heart leapt to see the emotion play across his face. Then he covered it with a quick scowl.
“You could totally be a model,” I insisted.
“Then you find me attractive.”
I flinched a little bit. I had said it, but I wasn’t prepared for him to be saying it.
What would Rachel say?
I pushed my arms down under my bosom, forcing myself to stand upright even as the drizzle seeped between my breasts like tiny icicle fingers. Boldly, I let my gaze drift over his profile and down into the open collar of his shirt.
“You could say that,” I said in a low voice that I hoped sounded Rachel-quality confident.
He glanced down at me, meeting my eyes with a charged intensity that I struggled not to wince from.
“Interesting,” he growled. “You have four more minutes.”
His gaze returned straight ahead then, and he didn't say another word on the matter. I expected a little something more. Maybe a thanks, maybe a confirmation or denial. He didn't seem particularly keen on discussing his money either, and I decided not to push the matter.
But without saying anything, I got edgier by the second. I wanted to hear his voice again, that low rumble, that weirdly bossy presence. I could still feel the imprint of his fingers at the top of my thigh from when he had (rightly) accused me of lying about my name. Weirdly, I ached to feel that again, and my belly twanged out a stuttering tattoo of want as soon as I thought of it.
We waited in silence for the longest four minutes of my life, standing quietly together staring at the wedges of light under the streetlamps. I couldn't bring myself to look up at him again, talk to him... nothing.
I shrank back into my blouse as the realization slowly dawned on me that Rachel really wasn't coming back. It wasn't so much that I expected her to, but I was really hoping. As attractive as Rafe was, he was unsettling. He was gorgeous and rich, but he was bossy and strange. Part of me kept cautioning me to think this through: was standing next to him really the right thing to do? Was I going to think so tomorrow? Maybe I needed space to clear my head.
He wasn’t like anyone I had ever met, that was for sure. The way he said my command as though that was a phrase normal people used, the way he just came right out and called me a liar, the way he mocked me in the bar—I wasn't sure I liked any of it, and I didn't want to put myself at his mercy while I was still tipsy and half-stoned. What if I regretted it later?
I heard a few heavy thunks at the top of the idling limo, and within moments, it was raining in earnest. I shivered hard, crossing my arms over my chest, staring at the ground.
Come on, Rachel. Please hurry up.
I felt a heaviness at my shoulders and gave a little startled gasp, my body tensing like a wild hare. Rafe had taken his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders, keeping the bitter wind from chilling me too badly.
“Stand closer to me.”
I looked up to him, pulling the jacket around myself.
“What?”
“I said: stand closer to me. Do you usually have this much trouble with directions, Jolie?”
He looked down at me briefly, a bolt of mild disdain. His exasperation made me fidgety and I felt my legs tense like I should be running. But running to him or running from him, I didn’t know.
He'd given me his coat, and he was standing in the freezing rain with me, waiting for my friend. He couldn't be all bad, bossy as he was. I understood, a little. It takes that kind of determination to get anywhere in the world, and I found myself a little envious of his confidence. With a small nod, I stepped closer to him.
He turned toward me slightly, and the wind broke over his broad shoulders and back. He was actively protecting me from the worst of the chill, and even some of the rain which was blowing in near-sideways. I looked up to him, trying hard to give him a gracious smile.
“Thank you, Rafe. It's pretty cold out here,” I admitted.
“Which is why I told you to get in the car. I don't know why you're being so difficult. Your friend isn't coming back, and you're coming with me.”
CHAPTER 8
The words hung in the air.
You’re coming with me. Your friend isn’t coming back.
I knew he was right. I couldn't realistically just stand out in the rain all night hoping that Rachel would come and pick me up on a whim. She was probably already at home, passed out on whatever drug she decided tickled her fancy.
Finally, I simply forced myself to look up at him and gave a small nod. He was going to do whatever he wanted anyway—anything after this was a suggestion. If he was willing to protect me against the wind and cold, he couldn't have anything too terrible in mind.
He gave a quick motion toward the limo.
“Get in.”
He walked beside me as I made my way across the puddled sidewalk, and we slipped inside quickly. I shrugged his jacket off, pushing it to him and sliding away slightly on the bench seat.
“There. Sorry I got your jacket wet.”
“I don't give a damn about the jacket.”
He settled in, brusque and remote, giving a firm knock to the burl wood side panel to signal the driver to pull off.
As we rolled slowly past the entrance to the bar, I felt a strange thrill of adventure. There was plenty of nervousness, even something bordering on dread, but it felt good. It was exhilarating. I was taking off in a limo with a man I'd never met, going somewhere, and it was fine.
Hanging out with Rachel was great and we always had our fun, but it was nothing like this. Rachel hadn’t seen fit to take me to her more exclusive meetings yet. The 712 Club was as close as I had gotten.
But now I was cupped against the thick leather of a limousine’s back seat sitting beside the sexiest man I had been close to, probably ever, and I had gotten there largely on my own steam. For all I knew, Rafe was the CEO of some multi-national corporation, and I was about to make a connection that would set me up for the rest of my life. Independence be damned.
I bit my lips closed and tried to settle in without giggling in nervousness. Trickles of water seeped across my belly and the humidity stuck my thighs together, but a curious warmth seemed to ooze up from below me.
Heated seats. Oh my lord.
I stifled a groan and rolled my ass cheeks against the leather. I knew what they were, of course, but I had never actually experienced the luxury of being licked from behind by a hot leather tongue.
Rafe cut his eyes toward me and scowled slightly. Could he tell? I wasn’t sure and jammed my knees together, holding my sensitive parts away from the seat so I didn’t enjoy myself too much. Though most of the little white pill’s worst effects had faded, I still felt sort of buzzy and hypersensitive.
I turned to him, putting on a timid smile to try to seem a bit less invasive. I was too curious to keep quiet, and I needed something to distract myself from the very sexy heat under my panties.
“So, not a supermodel then?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
I hummed, nodding, and continued to stare at him as the streetlights went by outside the window.
“It’s just the most obvious choice,” I explained, hopefully in a charming manner.
He was silent for a moment, then gave a soft chuckle. “No, but I suppose I’m flattered you said so. I do… a few things. I take care of people, and I ha
ve a few investments in the right places.”
Well, that tells me a lot.
“Investments,” I repeated, trying to get my head around it. Investments were as remote an idea as “retirement.” Investments were for old people, to help fund their end of life.
“Precisely,” he replied.
“Okay. What I mean is, like... hmm. So, you probably don't have what you'd consider a 'job' anymore, huh?”
He shook his head, his eyes cast out toward the rainy street. “No, no. My income is passive, though I do keep busy.”
I searched my mind for another question, one that he would answer more concisely. But he was apparently determined to maintain his privacy and I wasn’t the master interrogator Rachel was just yet.
Silence loomed between us and I could hear my belly rumbling, tying itself in knots. Whatever that pill had been, it seemed to be shredding a path as it went through the rest of me. Breathing deeply, I tried to command my body to settle down and my brain to calm.
Just be still. Enjoy the ride.
Perfectly normal car ride with a perfectly gorgeous rich man who's going to take me home and call me in the morning and ask me on a date or something. Yeah.
I gave a soft sigh. No way anyone like him would want anything to do with me. Not really. He was probably playing a game with me, seeing what he could get me to do. I didn't care anymore. He could play his little game of “help the poor drunk girl” and I could get my ride home. That's all this was.
CHAPTER 9
Rain lashed the limo’s windows in diagonal streaks. I turned to him, my hands folded primly in my lap.
“I live on Dunsbury Drive in the red apartment building. Can you let the driver know?”
Rafe stared at me, equally confused and amused.
“I don't know where you think we're going, Jolie, but it's not your apartment. Thank you for the information, though—if I ever decide to stop by for a visit, I know where to find you.”
